


Memories and Hopes

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Afterwards [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 01:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale dealing with some differences





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda a follow up to my other Good Omens work, but just a fun thing to write.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale deal with some issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow up to After the Apocalypse, which you can read here  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422532

He was falling. What a totally inarticulate understatement to call what he did “falling”. It was like all the breath was pushed out of him with the speed of the descent. It felt like fire in his veins as the celestial was replaced with demonic. His wings contracted and shuddered as new feathers pushed the old ones out, white raining down with him. The whole time he looked up, up towards the stars he’d helped create, up towards the heavens he’d helped build, and felt the worst of it. Total and utter despair and loss, that they could do this to him, that his brothers and sisters would turn on him, that a few questions would get him renounced from everything he loved, that from now on he was their enemy. The bitterness would come later, the anger, the muted hatred, now all he was was regret and sorrow and pure pain as his body impacted the earth, leaving a crater around him. it broke his ribs, tore his skin, bruised his everything, and he curled in on himself, unable to move past the pain.  
He jolted awake, unable to place where he was for several moments, finally realizing and letting out a long breath. His flat, he was in his house. He could hear the plants rustling quietly in the other room. He narrowed his eyes, they should be resting or they’d have holes in their leaves tomorrow. He found he didn’t have the will to threaten and torment them though. He sat up, massaging his forehead.  
He hated that dream, well, memory. It was one of his worst. His worst was the day he’d barely managed to save Aziraphale from the angels. Why did all his worst memories involve heaven yet all his best involved an angel?  
He shook his head, throwing on his coat and snatching his glasses off the table before throwing open a window, standing precariously balanced on its ledge. He heard the distant sound of traffic, the squeaks of bats out hunting, the usual sirens and shouts of city dwellers. He took it all in for a moment, before allowing his balance to tip. He fell, face down, from the ledge for a breathless moment, before his wings flared open and he caught the wind, soaring upwards into the night. Letting the rush of the wind and the whumph of his wings drown out his thoughts as he flew.  
He circled high above the city for a long moment, before circling downwards, landing outside the book shop. Warm candlelight filtered through the large front windows, and he could see Ziri poring over a stack of books, lovingly paging through them and marking repairs that needed to be made.  
He reached towards the door, then pulled back. He could go in and Ziri would smile that small smile at him, say his name in a surprised, warm tone, eyes crinkled with happiness. He’d take him in and they’d drink and talk and just be.  
He turned away abruptly, stalking off into the cold night, shaking his head. Instead he found a dark ally, shook out his wings, and flew up into the night. The thought of that warmth right now seemed for some reason unbearable. Undeserved.  
The wind beat against him as he flew straight into it, working his wings against the currents, feeling the ache grow in his muscles that hadn’t been used in too long. This was his first flight since getting burned up in heaven.  
He landed on a bluff, his favorite overlook outside the city, arms held behind him, looking up at the stars and the sky and the moon. He didn’t know what to say, he never did. He didn’t know why he even tried anymore, it’s not like he’d ever been listened to in the first place, not by the others and especially not by Her. Demons didn’t get their prayers answered. Still, this was a quiet spot, overlooking the water, waves crashing against the shore below. No one would hear him here, judge him for his pointless, useless prayers.  
“Why?” He whispered the question that was always hovering in the back of his mind. Such a simple question, Why. Yet it was the word that made him fall. “Why don’t you ever do anything? Why don’t you ever step in? You see how they’re running the place, they take your silence for permission when it’s just indifference.” He sighed, turning his back to the stars, pacing the small length of the overlook.  
“Why did you let me fall?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t hurt anyone. I followed all your rules, I tried to be good. I was just curious. I just asked questions. I just wanted to learn. Was that so terrible? Was it worth banishment? These humans you’re so fond of are constantly asking questions, trying to unravel the secrets of the world, your secrets, and you don’t seem to have a problem with them. I gave them that power. Me.” He shook his head, turning and looking back up at the stars, knowing how stupid this was.  
“Have you seen what Gabriel’s done with the place? He and Michael turned it into a dictatorship. They don’t banish people anymore, they burn them. They’re working together with Hell. They don’t care about good or evil, they just want power, their war, mortals be damned either way.” He sat in silence for a moment, listening to the crickets chirping, the tide coming in, the sea birds squawking in their sleep.  
“Did you let me in, up there? I’m strong but I’m not… I shouldn’t have been able to save him. So why… why would you care? You’ve never cared about any of us before, never gave a damn about me or him or any of this!” He shouted angrily at the sky, raking his hands through his hair, eyes blazing gold over his glasses as he glared up at the sky.  
“JUST SAY SOMETHING!” He screamed, rage and pointlessness washing over him as he was met with nothing but silence. He slid down to the ground, knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on top, hating that his cheeks were wet with tears, hating he felt so powerless.  
He remembered falling. Remembered it like it had just happened, even though it had been centuries ago, even though an eternity had passed since then. The speed of the plummet, the pain of the impact that left him battered and bruised, left wandering and lost and alone. It had hurt, hurt so bad he thought he was going to die, wished he had. The pure emptiness, abandonment, loss, that had all turned into darkness, into anger and hurt. And Hell, well. There was no kindness in Hell, no light, no such thing as friendship or trust. He’d learned fast, had to, cause if he didn’t, he’d be eaten alive. He was scarred and bruised and shattered in ways no one would ever be able to see without hurting that way themselves, and it was all because of Her. And she didn’t even have the decency to tell him why.  
“Crowley?” Aziraphale, always of course Aziraphale. “Are you alright? What are you doing out here? I thought I saw you outside the shop, but you didn’t come in so I thought…” He sat down next to Crowley on the ground, letting his own legs dangle over the edge. Crowley didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t move at all. “Crowley?” he asked again, unsure of himself now.  
“I didn’t want to fall. I never meant to be a demon. I never wanted any of this.” Crowley replied quietly. “I’ve tried to understand it. And I know you’ll say it’s all part of the ineffable plan, but I don’t have your faith, Aziraphale. I put all my trust in Her once, and I lost everything for it.”  
“Ah. I see.” Aziraphale murmured, letting out a long breath. “Crowley… do you remember when we met, at the garden?” Crowley let slip a half smile, staring off into space.  
“I tempted them into eating the apple and you gave them your sword.”  
“You joked about how maybe I’d done the wrong thing and you’d done the right thing. I’d lived in heaven since its existence, but that was the first time I really had to think. You challenge me, Crowley. You challenge them, and Gabriel doesn’t like to think. You’ve done more, accomplished more down here than you ever would have up there.” Aziraphale answered.  
“Why did you cover me?” Crowley asked softly, Aziraphale’s brow creasing in confusion. “At Eden. You let me use your wing as an umbrella. You should have hated me, shunned me, for what I was, what I’d just done in front of you. So why were you so… so kind?” He asked, finally turning his head so he was looking at Aziraphale.  
“Because you needed someone to be kind to you. You’re so good at hiding what you’re feeling, when you’re hurting. But you were, then. You still are. And I wish I could stop that hurting, Crowley. I would if I knew how.” Crowley looked away again, the earnestness in Ziri’s gaze painful.  
“So I was what, a pity case? A pet project?” Crowley asked, getting to his feet and pacing again, unable to stay still for long. He was a creature of movement, of action, he needed to be doing something.  
“Crowley, I never wanted to change you. I wanted to understand you. You were so different from anyone I’d ever met before. At Eden, maybe it was pity because you were fallen and I was new to earth. But the times after… I kept my eye out for you, Crowley. I looked forwards to seeing you, running into you unexpectedly, meeting up for coffee or drinks or what have you. Because you always surprised me, you still always surprise me. And I still just want to understand you.” Aziraphale answered, watching Crowley pace, who looked for all the world like a caged creature, ready to snap.  
“You know why Gabriel really wanted to burn you? Because you still have actual faith in Her. You don’t bow to his will, you make your own choices based on what you think She wants, not what he tells you is true. You’re too good for Heaven, Aziraphale. Which to them means you’re destined for Hell.” Crowley replied, stopping as Aziraphale caught his wrist, tugging him down to sit beside him. Crowley pulled away, standing at the edge of the bluff, hands half in his pockets, eyes on the waves.  
“I’m not going to fall, Crowley, is that what you’re worried about? How did you get out here, by the way, I don’t see your car.” He asked. Crowley muttered something into the wind. “What?”  
“Flew, I flew, which is presumably how you got out here too so don’t start on me about it.”  
“Wha, well, I’m not the one who recently almost lost my wings due to severe burns! Are all your feathers even in yet?” Aziraphale asked outraged.  
“Clearly enough are, otherwise I would be on the ground outside the window with a broken nose.” Aziraphale sputtered.  
“More like a broken neck! You didn’t even check before trying to fly!? Crowley, what has gotten into you?! You’ve always been reckless but never careless. If you got discorporated now-”  
“What’s gotten into to me is that I don’t know if I can protect you anymore!” Crowley shouted, throwing aside his glasses and rubbing his face.  
“Crowley…”  
“No, Ziri, listen. Here’s what I know. Me, by myself, I can’t break into heaven single handedly, no matter how bloody furious I am. Something had to let me in, and it clearly wasn’t the angels so that means it was… was Her. And if she’s paying attention to what we’re doing, if she actually gave enough of a damn to let me get to you, that means she wants us for something. We’re just pawns in her little game again, which is exactly what I ended up falling to avoid!” Aziraphale was stunned into silence. Crowley turned away, shaking his head. “We were finally on our own team, free to do whatever we wanted, and now even that’s all muddled up. What’s the point of being this, if I don’t even get my own choices? I paid the price, I fell, I got kicked out of heaven, I got kicked out of hell, she doesn’t get to ask anything more from me.” His voice shook, Aziraphale couldn’t tell if it was in anger or pain.  
“Crowley… it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how you got into heaven. It doesn’t matter if She did or didn’t help. What matters is I’m here, and you’re here, and we’re both safe. I still believe in Her… but I don’t believe in the rest of the angels. And maybe that’s what She was telling you, showing them. A warning. But that, that doesn’t affect us anymore. We don’t follow their orders anymore. That hasn’t changed.” Aziraphale consoled. They sat in silence for a few long minutes.  
“Does it really bother you, still? What you are?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley sighed, running a hand through his hair.  
“Nah, came to terms with that ages ago. Causing mischief, a little chaos here and there, more fun than running around up there with the bureaucrats and paperwork. Being on earth, being what I am, that didn’t bother me. What bothers me still is the why of it all. It was curiosity. Not even challenging curiosity, just honest, wondering curiosity. Wanting to know the hows and whys and…” He trailed off, kicking a pebble over the cliff side.  
“I was lucky. I only had to go down there for quarterly reports, or when something big was cooking. I didn’t have to stay. Some of them, they revel in it, the filth and cruelty and survival. Like Beelzebub, she loves it, couldn’t be happier. But I … the things I saw down there, Ziri… if I’d been stationed down there, I think I would have lost my mind. That’s what bothers me, what I see in my nightmares. And if the angels got their hands on you, changed tactics and just made you fall…” He let out a choked half laugh, half sob, “you wouldn’t last a second as a demon. You’re too fundamentally kind, and if there’s one thing they can’t abide its selfless kindness. Even if they just left you alone… it would kill you Aziraphale. Losing that light, that grace, it would kill your spirit. If I lost you Ziri, there would be no reason for me to exist. I’d jump into holy water myself, because I can’t bear eternity without ever seeing your face again, hearing your voice again, living knowing that you were gone and nothing I could do would change it… I got a taste of it when your bookshop was aflame. When I clawed my way to heaven. Every damn night in my dreams you are destroyed a million different ways and every time I wake up, I have a moment where I think it’s real and it’s the most excruciating pain I’ve ever known, that moment before lucidity. And every time I’m terrified that it wasn’t a dream.” Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to formulate a sentence, a single word. He reached out, but Crowley flinched away, slouching farther down. Aziraphale’s hands fluttered nervously, and he settled on readjusting his coat as he cleared his throat.  
“Then perhaps… it might be prudent… I mean, now that we are on our own team and all, to consolidate.” Crowley raised an eyebrow.  
“Consolidate.”  
“Yes. Consolidate. Into our own headquarters… together. Since we are, you know, together.” He tried to hide his blush.  
“Angel, are you asking me to move in with you?” Crowley asked, incredulous. “If I knew nearly dying and having a crisis was all it took, I would’ve done this sooner.” He teased, but Aziraphale could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Crowley’s fears hung heavy on him tonight, and Aziraphale couldn’t stand to see him hurting so badly.  
“I’m serious Crowley. You’re constantly worried about me, well, believe me you’ve given me plenty of reason to worry recently. If we’re both more at ease with the other, then let’s stop pretending otherwise. Let’s just… be.” Crowley let out a soft chuckle.  
“Have I ever told you how absolutely wonderful you are Ziri?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale stifled a smile.  
“Once or twice, yes.”  
“Well you’re going to hear it again every morning when you wake up. It’ll be the very first thing I say to you, Angel mine.” Crowley replied, pulling Aziraphale to his feet, drawing him close. Aziraphale instantly relaxed into Crowley’s touch, running his hands through his flame red hair, resting forehead to forehead.  
“I won’t ever leave you Crowley. No matter what comes at us, no matter from where. I will always be right here.” Aziraphale murmured, looking into Crowley’s gold slitted eyes. He loved Crowley’s eyes. Crowley kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, very softly his lips, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, holding him tight.  
“I know Ziri.” He sighed, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he looked down at Aziraphale. “Well, this has been a rather heavy evening. Let’s have some fun, shall we?” Before Aziraphale could ask what exactly Crowley meant, he shoved Aziraphale off the edge of the bluff with a wicked smile, swan diving after him, wings snapping open a moment before he’d hit the rocks below, whooping as he sped along the tops of waves. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Ziri hovering in place, righting himself in the air. Crowley could imagine his indignant spluttering from the withering look Aziraphale shot him across the water, and he threw his head back and laughed.  
“Are you going to hover like a hummingbird all night Angel?” He called out, winking as he shot skywards with all his speed. He could hear Ziri’s own laugh of surprise as he followed behind, gradually gaining on his lead. Well, he wouldn’t let himself be that easy to catch.  
He banked hard, zooming straight into the cloudbank rolling in, twisting and diving through it, letting the damp wash over him, darting in and out and above and around, always just out of Aziraphale’s reach. They twisted through the air, leaving trails through the clouds, finally breaking through the top of the cloudbank. Crowley stopped, hovering below the moon, for a moment teleported back to a different time when he flew through different starless skies.  
He laughed a moment later when Ziri popped out of the clouds right behind him, breaking through his reverie as they collided, falling for a moment before they untangled themselves and regained their balance.  
“Well, I did say you still surprise me, didn’t I Crowley?” Aziraphale puffed, hanging in the air before Crowley, who hovered in place as if he were reclining on a sofa, legs stretched before him, arms behind his head, wings flapping lazily, catching the currents to keep him afloat. He’d always been an exceptional flier. It was part of the reason he’d been picked to help create the stars, the galaxies. Weave their patterns and constellations. He stared straight up at them now, almost breathless, suppressing the sudden infuriating twinge of pain.  
“You have that look again.” Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley shook off his memories.  
“Hmm? What look?” He asked, not moving from his pose, but his muscles were tense now, his playfulness of moments before gone, replaced with that same aching emptiness he’d been fighting since the fall.  
“That sad melancholic look. I see it all the time when you think I’m not looking, or you get lost in your thoughts. What are you thinking about?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley swallowed hard, and closed his eyes, letting the wind hold him steady. He was quiet so long Aziraphale thought he’d fallen asleep like that. He started when Crowley spoke.  
“Heaven. Before I fell, before I asked so many damn questions, when I was just content to do what I was told. Not that I minded. It was a canvas, Aziraphale. A great empty black canvas, that She pointed at and said go, make something wonderful, something beautiful, anything we could imagine.  
So, I did. Lights and stars and planets and galaxies and nebulae and rings and asteroids and black holes because part of me understood even then that the universe needed darkness to thrive.  
It wasn’t just me, of course. But it was space, Ziri, it was so big you wouldn’t stumble onto another angel for days. And when you did you spun through the sky, dancing light into the universe together, creating pure…. Well. Something pure.” Crowley cracked his eyes open a fraction, lazily, it would seem to anyone who didn’t know him.  
But Aziraphale knew he was watching him intensely, trying to gauge his reaction, somehow… afraid.  
“Crowley… you never said.” Aziraphale breathed, looking up, not that they could see the sky anymore, the clouds were thickening, rolling in. Crowley shrugged, a flash of pain across his face.  
“I never had any reason to. I never had anyone to tell. Not that it matters. I can’t anymore, Ziri. I can have images in my mind, so clear, that I itch to pick up a pencil, a brush, something, and put it down on paper, as inadequate a material that seems to me, but it just comes out a muddled mess. The colors blend into browns and grays, the pencil smudges and the lines aren’t straight, I can’t get dimensions right, I can’t translate it, can’t…” He flipped back up, crossing his arms tight, letting out a ragged breath.  
“They took it away, when I fell, as punishment. If I wasn’t creating for Heaven, why should I be able to create anything at all? Then the humans… they eat the apple, they get kicked out of Eden, but it gave them the ability to create, to fathom new ideas, to make and build and grow. They question and they gain everything I lost by doing the same. That’s why I won’t ever forgive Her, Aziraphale. For everything else, I could understand. I could understand me falling was all part of the ineffable plan, so we could stop Armageddon, I could forgive that because it led to you. But… creation? Art? Making something out of nothing, something new, something beautiful for the sake of it? Taking that was simply and purely cruel for no other reason than to be cruel. That is what I cannot forgive.” A feather drifted off from Crowley’s wing, and he watched it as it slowly drifted away, carried on eddies out to sea. He noticed the ache in his wings now, and flinched at the little pinpricks of itchiness and pain still present as new feathers came in.  
“She’s a hypocrite. For all her talk of worthiness and holiness and unquestioning faith, she arbitrarily doles out prizes and punishments to either side unambiguously. And she doesn’t even have the decency to at least admit it. I know what I am. But She? She doesn’t even know what line She stands on.” Crowley said, still watching the spot his feather disappeared, voice not angry, merely… hollow.  
“Suppose that’s what finally did it, really. I asked out loud the questions that led me to that conclusion in my mind and She didn’t like what she heard, maybe didn’t like to ponder what it meant about Herself, that She wasn’t infallible. I never made for a very good angel.” Crowley inhaled shakily. “I often wish they’d taken my wings instead. I think that would have been easier to bear.” He said softly, forlornly.  
“Crowley… I could help, I could do… I don’t know, do something.” Aziraphale replied. Crowley smiled sadly.  
“It’s not a pain you’ll ever have to know. It’s not comprehendible, not entirely. The closest you’d get is when you found out your bookshop had burned down, when you saw the rubble of all those precious books. Except the stars still shine and I’m what’s rubble. I can ignore it, push it aside, forget about it, especially when I’m with you, Ziri, because you give me something good to center on. But it’s like a missing limb, phantom pains every time I absentmindedly reach for a pencil because I see something interesting, every time I forgetfully try and just doodle… it all crashes down on me again. This isn’t your problem Ziri, it’s not your burden. That’s why I never told you. Not because I didn’t trust you or wanted to hide it, because it just hurts too much to say out loud, to remember, when I don’t have to.” He sighed, raking his hand through his hair, looking fondly at Aziraphale. “I wonder sometimes if you even realize how bright you are, Ziri, like your own little star. You burn so bright sometimes it hurts to be near you. You’ve made your own path, but kept your halo and holiness.” Crowley looked up, feeling solid rain drops on his face.  
“And now we’re soaked and it’s about to rain and we’re hovering idiotically over the sea. With my luck She’ll spite me twice and throw a lightning bolt at me. Come on.” With that he turned, diving back down through the clouds, disappearing towards the shore before Aziraphale could summon any organized thought or say a single word.  
He lost Crowley in the fog, and by the time he landed Crowley was gone.  
“Insufferable little devil.” He muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course, Crowley would open up, tell him all that, and then flee. He supposed it was a hard thing to remember, harder to say out loud, hardest to tell to an angel. Even if that angel was your best friend.  
Aziraphale sighed, taking refuge under a tree as it began to rain, distant thunder rumbling over the water. He tried to imagine what it would feel like, to be able to create the most wonderous, magical beauty in the entire universe, then suddenly not be able to do so much as draw a flower. It was so dreadfully unfair.  
And Crowley was right, of course, in saying it was cruel, for the sake of being cruel. Because Crowley being able to paint or draw wouldn’t have stopped them from crossing paths at Eden, and that’s what really set their whole partnership in motion, from that first instant they were pulled together.  
He looked down at his hands. He couldn’t see the light Crowley spoke of, though he could feel it, his pure white aura. He didn’t realize it affected Crowley, that he could even see it, though of course he could. He’d been an angel too. Crowley was like a black hole. His aura so dark it drank in the light, it shrouded him in darkness. Auras were supposed to tell you the truth of someone, their souls. But he wasn’t wholly good and Crowley had never been truly evil. Maybe that was the key, Crowley still was good, even if he denied it.  
Even as the lines between good and evil blurred into gray, he’d always had faith in God. As an angel, one had to, of course, at least outwardly, but inwardly he’d always trusted Her, trusted the plan, trusted fate to guide him forwards. But now… how could She? Why… he shook his head. This was leading in circles and he was cold, and needed to find a taxi home. Flying in the rain was dreadfully uncomfortable.


	2. Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has an idea

Crowley was curled in a tight ball under the sofa. The carpet below was soft and warm, and the sturdy feel of the couch above blocked out the light and some of the sound. As the thunder crashed again, he shivered, curling tighter into his snaky coils. He didn’t often shift into his snake anymore, but it came in handy when he wanted to hide, when he wanted to be small and unnoticeable, which he always, always did during the rare thunderstorm.  
Too much was whirling through his head tonight. All his memories he suppressed had been dredged up from the deep once again, and every boom made him jump, thrust him into a different terror. Black feathers burning, uncontrollable fall, torn and broken body, useless, stupid hands, being tortured in Hell until he lost himself completely. He couldn’t stop thinking, he couldn’t control his mind, he felt like he was endlessly falling down a bottomless pit of his own making. This all was his own fault, his own stupid choices led here.  
He noticed the footsteps because of their vibration on the floor. He’d missed the bell over the door jingling, and Aziraphale hadn’t turned on the main lights. He flicked out his tongue, comforted by the immense sense of his friend that his snake form could detect. His scent, his heat, his physicality, it made him feel safe, suddenly.   
He felt embarrassed, lurking under Aziraphale’s couch after running off on him. It would be awkward to come out now and even awkwarder to explain why he was hiding under the couch in the first place. And Ziri would want to talk, and Crowley wasn’t sure he could take any more talking of the past without completely breaking, at the moment.  
So he stayed still, quiet, listened as Aziraphale hummed to himself thoughtfully, as the kettle boiled with water for tea and he sat down on the sofa above Crowley. Crowley, who waited, listening, until Aziraphale was asleep, then slithered out from under the couch, flinching at the thunder peals and lightning he could see through the windows and decided against leaving, made his way onto the sofa and draped himself around Ziri. He wrapped himself once around Ziri’s arm so he wouldn’t fall, resting his head on his shoulder and allowing himself to relax, to release all the muscles bunched up inside him against Ziri’s warmth, finally letting Aziraphale’s pulse lull him to sleep, drowning out the thunder.  
Aziraphale woke to the crackling and smell of bacon frying in a pan, eggs being scrambled. He sat up, peeking over the top of the couch, surprised to see Crowley walking back in from the kitchen carrying a plate of food which he handed to Aziraphale, before sprawling over the end of the couch.   
“Was a late night, figured you’d want something. It’s nothing fancy.” Crowley stated, arms across the top of the cushions, legs stretched out and crossed before him, head tipped back to stare up at the round painted ceiling. Aziraphale noticed he hadn’t replaced his glasses. Aziraphale took a bite of toast, looking askance at Crowley, trying to gauge his mood.   
“When did you get here?” Aziraphale asked, raising his eye brow. Crowley’s ears reddened.   
“Before you.” He replied, lazily running a hand through his hair. “It stormed.” He finished after a moment. Realization flashed through Aziraphale’s eyes as he set the plate aside. He stared hard at Crowley for a moment, squinting slightly.   
“Angel I know you like what you see but are you just going to stare all day?” Crowley asked, tipping his head towards Ziri, who blushed furiously but refused to rise to the bait.   
“I have an idea.” Aziraphale said hesitantly.   
“And?” Crowley asked, fixing those golden eyes on Ziri, taking his breath away for a moment.   
Aziraphale got up, heading to his desk. He returned with a beautifully crafted handmade leather sketchbook, a silver spiraling rune on the front that led to a metal latch holding it closed. He held it out to Crowley along with a pencil, then sat back down next to the demon, who was now holding the book and pencil with confusion, pain and a spark of anger.   
“I want you to draw me.” Crowley’s eyes flashed as he glared up at Aziraphale, all the ease vanishing from his lanky body.   
“Seriously? I told you. I can’t.” He replied flatly, anger fading as quick as it came, replaced by a dullness in his eyes that hurt Aziraphale to see, that hopelessness that came over Crowley when he thought of his past. Of which there was a lot.  
“You can. I don’t care what it looks like, Crowley. You’re the best artist in the whole universe. I just want something you’ve made… something you make will always be beautiful.” Aziraphale answered, meeting Crowley’s eyes, letting him see his earnestness. Crowley let out a deep sigh, stroking the book’s cover.  
“I don’t know what you’re playing at Ziri.” Crowley shook his head, opening to the first page, blank and perfect. He hovered the pencil over the top of the page, knuckles white as he gripped it tight. He looked up at Aziraphale as he moved closer, peering down at the page and resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder.   
“Just close your eyes. You know my face like the back of your hand. Don’t think about it, just let it go.” Aziraphale said, eyes bright. He was being so bright again, so excited and giddy his aura was blazing. Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s touch, let his light seep into him, let his mind drift along with his hand.  
When he opened his eyes, he didn’t know how much time had passed. It could have been hours or days, he was in a sort of haze, mind fuzzy and clouded. He looked down at the paper before him uncomprehendingly.   
“Aziraphale…” he whispered, running a hand over the paper. Aziraphale jerked awake at Crowley’s awed voice.   
“hm?” He caught his breath. It was a headshot of him. It was beautiful. The shading made it look like his face was glowing, Crowley had captured his aura in his portrait, his halo, the crinkle around his eyes, his dimples.   
“what did you do? How did I… Ziri…” Crowley’s voice cracked, barely audible, fixated on the page, the first thing he’d drawn in centuries. His hands shook as he set down the pencil.   
“Crowley…” Aziraphale trailed off, eyes wide, “You’re glowing. You’re glowing so bright right now…. I can almost see your halo.” Crowley froze, sketch book dropping from his hands. He was wordless, breathless, completely astounded. Looking down at his hands he could see the glow Aziraphale was speaking of, his usually pitch-black aura now shimmering with white, sparkling like stars in the sky. He could see constellations in it, flickering about and forever shifting. The art he’d made centuries ago now blazing on his skin.   
“I told you, Crowley. There’s still good in you. You just have to stop being afraid of it. A little extra heavenly power doesn’t go amiss either, I suppose. Just a hint of angelic power to wake up yours.” Aziraphale said, smiling softly, picking the book up off the ground and handing it back to Crowley. Crowley gazed up at him, expression flickering from shock to surprise to awe to wonder before it crumpled completely and he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, face buried in his chest as sobs shook his shoulders. Aziraphale embraced Crowley tight, resting his head atop Crowley’s, rubbing his back.   
It was 3000 years of grief and sorrow, it was all the pain and longing and hope, it was all the terror and fear and rage, he cried for it all. For all he’d lost and all he’d gained and this amazing, beautiful, stupidly brave and kind and magnificent angel who’d never once failed to believe in him, even before he had any faith in himself. Even when he had no faith in the person the angel had the most faith in, even when he’d been wounded irreparably by the same deity the angel was guided by.   
“Thank you.” He mumbled, looking up into Aziraphale’s face, surprised to see tear tracks on his face as well.   
“I didn’t do hardly anything Crowley. I just set free what they locked away.” Crowley shook his head, crooked smile pulling at his lips.   
“You keep on saving me, Aziraphale. And you don’t even realize that’s what you’re doing. You’re just doing it to be kind, because that’s who you are. That’s why I love you.” Crowley said, tipping Aziraphale’s head down to his, gently brushing his lips, hands caressing his face before he straightened up, reopening the sketch book to the next page, taking the proffered pencil Aziraphale handed him, the other one lost on the floor somewhere.   
He curled up against Ziri, who wrapped an arm around Crowley’s shoulders in their familiar pose. This time his hand didn’t hesitate above the page. This time images bloomed in his mind and blossomed onto the paper. This time he had centuries of history to record, millions of images to paint, billions of works to dedicate to Aziraphale, who watched him in quiet, companionable silence as he sketched the world from his strange point of view. A half saved-half fallen demon, who didn’t want to be anything other than just that, in the arms of his love, in the safety of the bookshop, in a world they protected on a team of their own.


End file.
